


charcoal and lavender

by kinestheticpariah



Series: Variations on Mormonstuck [7]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Mormonstuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-28 06:37:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinestheticpariah/pseuds/kinestheticpariah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose is a whirlwind of confident mystery, questions and secrets and snark.<br/>But she doesn’t fool you.<br/>-------------------<br/>In which Rose Lalonde is a rebellious Mormon all the guys want,<br/>but Karkat Vantas knows that on the inside she's just a terrified virgin like everyone else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	charcoal and lavender

There are pale white hands gripping your charcoal grey shirt.  
Black-painted fingernails become caught in nearly-microscopic holes as fingers grip at fabric.  
Warm breath soaks into the skin of your shoulder, and a hand comes up to pull the neckline of your shirt over your shoulder, quickly replaced by the tingling of grazing teeth and warm spit.  
When lipstick smears across your tan skin, it’s black to match the nail polish.  
You run your hands over soft curves, underneath an unbuttoned lavender blouse. Your fingers graze lace when they reach round hips.  
  
Lips travel up your neck, across your jaw, to your own lips.  
Hands run down your chest, begin pulling the hem of your shirt up.  
Mouths part while you momentarily become trapped in grey fabric, and when you emerge your hair is likely mussed. The shirt is discarded.  
The girl on your lap grinds her crotch into your leg and groans. Dark mascara-ed lashes and purple eyelashes flutter.  
  
You know Rose Lalonde has been with a lot of boys - and probably girls - before.  
She’s handed them green paper to keep them quiet, lest her reputation as a model Mormon girl be tarnished.  
Still, whispers travel around school.  
You can’t stop gossip. Not in high school.  
  
Her lips reach your earlobe, teeth tug at a metal stud, warm breath leaves light condensation on your ear.  
Your fingers dig into the softness of her sides.  
“Have you done this before?” she whispers.  
You tell her no, you haven’t. She pulls back and smiles at you, confident gleam in lavender eyes.  
Rose is a whirlwind of confident mystery, questions and secrets and snark.  
But she doesn’t fool you.  
“You haven’t, either,” you say.  
  
Her face falls, just a little. Turns to stone, blank and calculating.  
She smirks, but her eyes betray her. She knows you’re right.  
“How would you know?”  
You ignore her question. “You’ve licked a few pussies, sucked a few dicks. Left hickeys, scratches. Had fingers knuckle-deep in your cunt, tongues on your clit. But you haven’t done it all. There’s no way you have.”  
She frowns at you. “You don’t know that.”  
“You think your locks are pickproof, don’t you, Lalonde?” you say, slipping a hand under silk and lace to cup a supple breast. You bring your lips to her ear, blow a soft breath into her skin and hair, whisper, “Not to me.”   
She fucking shudders. You grin as you nip at the sensitive skin below her ear, grimace and spit out a stray blonde hair when you pull away.  
  
You start pulling her top off of her shoulders, but you see her eyes and you stop.  
“Tell no one,” she hisses after blinking away tears, fingers tight at your shoulders, hot breath against your face.  
You lean forward, suck her bottom lip into your mouth. Your cock twitches as she moans against your mouth.  
You pull away.  
“Not like I have anyone to tell,” you mumble, pulling her top off and tossing it aside.  
She pushes you onto the bed and tugs roughly at your jeans, not bothering to unbuckle your belt or unbutton your fly, and manages to pull them over your bare feet and toss them onto the floor atop her blouse, with a metallic clinking of the belt buckle.  
Her fingertips trace the waistband of your boxers, her lip curling into a smirk as she hooks her thumb into the elastic.  
You chuckle.  
“Going straight for the prize, Lalonde?”  
She shoots a glare that could turn you to stone, nearly tears your boxers off your legs, and-  
  
“FFFFFFFUCK-”  
She’s making fucking eye contact as she takes you into her mouth, all the fucking way, lips at the base of your cock. She swallows around your cock and you groan, fisting her hair.  
Her mouth is warm and wet. She runs her tongue up your length, licks a drop of precum from your slit before bobbing her head back down.  
You wonder if her cunt feels like this.  
There’s pressure and heat in your gut and then she removes her mouth, licks and bites her way up your torso, shoves her skirt down her legs, straddles you and rubs a lace-covered crotch against your dick.  
She smirks and digs her nails into your shoulders when you huff out a breath.  
The doubt that was in her eyes before is gone, dissolved, floating off somewhere in the air far away from you. She bites her lip as she grinds into you, closes her eyes, smiles.  
And when she opens her eyes she’s looking at you like you’re her prey.

But once her panties come down her legs, pool at her ankles and are kicked onto the floor, there's guilt, and shame, and confusion, and fear in her eyes.  
Still she lays on your black and red sheets, pale skin a contrast to the darkness of your dim, grey-walled room.  
You work her with your fingers, rub her clit while she pinches her nipples and palms her breasts.  
When you roll a condom onto your dick, slide into her, groan as her warmth squeezes around you, her eyes shut tight and she claws the sheets.  
She bucks her hips back against you, tries to put on a brave face, but underneath it all you know the truth.  
Rose Lalonde is a terrified virgin just like you.  
Or was.


End file.
